Chapter 30
Doune and Dumbarton - Friday January 31, 1746
Thus it was that Glengyle and Rob watched the remains of the Prince’s army pass by the Castle of Doune. The decision had been taken to retreat to the Highlands.
“Rob, we have an errand to perform, and then I desire you to go with Macpharrie and Ronald to Glen Ggyle and Balquhidder.” Glengyle said. “The army is to retreat to Crieff and from there I do not yet know. I shall inform you so soon as I know. Tho’ I presume that the intention is to march to Inverness. Lovat and Clan Donald say that they can raise many more men if the army goes north.”
“What is to be done with the prisoners?” Rob queried.
“They are all to be released without condition or favour,” Glengyle answered. “We have no way of removing all these to Inverness, or of holding them once they are there. Remember that misuse of these, our prisoners, will be returned upon us a thousand fold should the position be reversed. I doubt that Hawley would need any justification from our conduct to make prisoners of Highlanders if a hempen rope was at hand. Already our patrols have found the corpses of some of our army who by misfortune were taken and hanged out of hand.”
By the following day, February 1st, the retreat had become almost a rout. The cannon had been spiked and heavy stores destroyed. Glengyle and Rob looked back at the Fortress that they had occupied for nineteen weeks. All weapons and useful supplies had been removed. The doors broken down.
The fifty Gregarach that remained with them were to be the rearguard of the Highland army. Glengyle ordered Ranald to take command with forty men on foot, while he and Rob had an errand of their own to perform with the remainder who were mounted.
Glengyle quickly issued his orders. Curtains of freezing rain fell on them as the party rode by the northern edge of Flanders Moss. Their only consolation was that the rain was driven by a northeasterly wind from behind them. The Jacobite army had withdrawn from south of the Forth and Cumberland’s dragoons had begun regular probing patrols to the north. There was no point in courting danger until they needed to. They skirted the clachan of Aberfoyle, anxious not to attract attention. Crossing the infant Forth they kept to the woodlands rather than approach too closely to the policies of the Montrose estate. [Cultivated fields and woodland around the castle] Night was falling as they descended the Kilpatrick Hills above Dumbarton, pausing at the Hill of Dumbuck. About a mile away, highlighted by the last glow of the short day but barely discernible through the mirky weather, rose the twin peaks of Dumbarton Rock, like fossil paps with a cleavage in between.
“We shall climb the wall on this side and release Cornour and the other men who were taken at Ardno on Loch Fyne,” Glengyle announced.
“That wall is sheer. It has a parapet on top. Batteries of heavy cannon defend the fort. How can we take that place?” Rob exclaimed, “Inversnaid and Doune fell by luck and carelessness. That fortress is one of the strongest in Scotland and garrisoned by regulars! It is stronger than either Edinburgh or Stirling and we had no success whatever with them.”
“There is a way,” his father answered. “It has been done before and I intend the same ploy. I have had a man stationed here watching the Castle for me. He reported that most of the garrison has been withdrawn and sailed up the Clyde two days since to join Cumberland’s army. There cannot be more than a handful of men of the garrison remaining inside. Almost two hundred years ago, the Castle was held for Queen Mary against the Regent Lennox. The garrison were careless in their watch, thinking the Castle invincible. A daring escalade of the walls by a small party succeeded in entering the Castle and disarming the garrison.”
Glengyle ordered two men to ride to Balloch at the foot of Loch Lomond and ensure that the boats that he had commanded to meet them had arrived. If not they were to locate boats sufficient for thirty, but not to excite any interest that might result in their intentions being betrayed. Two others, himself included, were to position themselves under cover of coppiced woodland, with the garrons, near the northern postern gate of the Castle.
“You do not intend to scale those rocks yourself, then? This whole scheme appears so foolhardy. I assumed that you would lead the assault!” Rob said.
“No, Rob, I am becoming an old man. I would gladly lead the assault, but I would hinder you and perhaps betray our approach. I shall be waiting for you at the northern gate. God be with you all.”
The spy that Glengyle had stationed here had obtained a ladder of sixty steps and lengths of rope for their attempt. They carried these through the dark, wet night towards the base of the rock. The wind remained at their back. The only consolation was that it would be in the face of the sentinels on the rampart high above them.
Rob looked up. “How in the name of all that is holy can we climb that?” he asked of nobody in particular.
“It is not so difficult,” Glengyle’s spy explained. He was a sailor, bynamed Alasdair Sèoladair. He had lived around Dumbarton for some years, when not at sea, although he was one of their own name. “There is a ledge about eight fathoms up that we can reach with the ladder. When we are all upon it. Then I shall climb up to a tree that grows from a cleft some five fathoms further. With the ropes I shall draw you all up and raise the ladder also. We shall use the ladder again to reach the base of the rampart, where the masonry is cracked and can easily be climbed. Once over the walls, it will be your task to surprise the guard and take the Castle.”
Rob peered up at the black basalt cliff, streaming with water as the easterly gale battered its charge of sleet against it. The darkness was almost total. Sèoladair’s description made it sound easy. This task was nearly impossible.
The ladder was placed in position. Two men steadied it while the sailor ran up as if it had been horizontal. They heard the double hoot of an owl, signifying that he had reached the ledge and was ready to receive the rest of them. Rob started up the ladder. His feet found each wet rung in turn. The ladder, roughly fashioned from young birch trunks bound with cord shook alarmingly at every step. After what seemed an eternity Sèoladair’s hand gripped his upper arm, helping him onto the ledge. The ledge was barely a foot wide and slippery with moss and slime. Sèoladair told Rob, “edge along and keep your back to the wall. There is a wider section a few feet along.”
Soon, Alasdair and Calum Og joined him, followed by the rest of the small band. Sèoladair and another began to drag the ladder up behind them. They passed the ladder from hand to hand along the ledge until Rob gripped it firmly, with his back to the wall. The ladder gave an illusion of security in his precarious stance. Sèoladair began to climb the sheer rockface with coils of heavy, wet rope hung around his neck. He moved slowly, searching for hand and footholds in the wet basalt. Two lengths of rope paid out behind him. Rob could hear him breathing heavily a few feet above. Pray God the sentinel was not directly above them.
After what seemed an eternity there was a triple jerk on the rope. Sèoladair had reached the tree and secured the rope ends. While Rob held the ladder, Calum Og climbed the ladder with one of the ropes in one hand, clutching grimly to a leg of the ladder with the other. The ash tree was some ten feet to the south of the ledge and almost thirty feet above where Rob stood, therefore it was necessary to secure the top of the ladder so that it could be hauled up to where Sèoladair had tied himself to the short, sturdy trunk. Calum Og climbed down again carefully, leaving the ladder secured to the rope at the top and held by Rob at the bottom. Then, wrapping the other length of rope around his waist Calum Og began to trace Sèoladair’s path up the cliff. Once he slipped and swung out from the rock face, but Sèoladair had a firm grip of the rope and hauled him up. Once securely on the ledge beside the tree, Sèoladair swung the rope so that the lower end reached the rest of the band, patiently waiting, freezing and dripping down below. In turn they each climbed or were hauled up the rock face until only Rob remained, still clutching the ladder.
Rob heard the owl hoots from above and pushed the ladder clear at the base from its
footing on the rock. It swung away from him in the darkness. He heard the noise as the men above dragged it up. It seemed to Rob that ages had passed. He was soaked through and through. The icy cold bit at his limbs as he tried, within the limits of his precarious stance to stamp his bare feet and shake his hands for some pretence of warmth.
The rope end swung just in front of Rob’s face, he grabbed at it, nearly losing his footing. It steadied. He tied it securely round his waist and jerked it three times. The men above pulled it taut. He turned to face the rock and scrabbled with his fingers and toes to find grip. He began his climb. His foot slipped, he was falling, but the rope held. He swung round to face the cliff again and found a crack with his fingers. The rope hauled him upwards, he only had to steady himself and avoid abrading his skin on the sharp rock edges. Soon he had joined the others beside the tree. They had already positioned the ladder and secured its base to some hardy whin.
Now it was Rob’s turn to lead again. The rope remained secured around his waist. He climbed up the repositioned ladder to the base of the wall. True enough as Sèoladair had reported the rampart was cracked from the base. At this point the masonry wall was no more than ten feet high. He could feel hand and foot holds but the roughly dressed stones were loose. The mortar had eroded, leaving holes where facing stones had fallen. Carefully he clambered up the wall. He paused just below the parapet and listened. Where was the sentinel? The wind-blown sleet still came from the east. It would be difficult to see or hear anything in this howling gale. Hopefully, the guard was snug in his box, yards away from where Rob hung onto the face of the wall. Nothing for it, he thought as he heaved his tired and cold body up and through the embrasure of the rampart, slithering onto the wall-walk. He lay still and listened. He heard nothing above the sound of the wind and the rain. Nor did he detect movement along the wall or above towards the barrack block on the summit. Rob pulled twice on the rope. It instantly went taut as the next man began the climb. Rob braced himself, lying flat on his back with his feet against the wall. It was not long before Calum Og clambered through the embrasure to join him. The rope end was thrown down for the next, while Calum stood guard, dirk drawn in case they were surprised. It seemed like an eternity he lay there. Rob’s aching limbs strained as each man of the party climbed up the parapet.
Finally, they were all inside and apparently unobserved. To the south was the bulk of the crane that the garrison used to lift supplies. To the north and above them was a barrack block for the ordinary men of the garrison. Along the wall to the north was a sentinel box built into the wall. The sentinel had to be the first objective for Rob and Calum. The remainder cautiously approached the barrack block.
Close by and even above the howl of the wind, Rob could hear the sentinel’s snores. Rob removed the sentinel’s musket before wakening him. Calum had his dirk at the sentinel’s throat. Wisely, the man did not attempt to raise an alarm and answered Rob’s questions.
Alasdair came over. “There are none in the barrack there.”
Rob said. “The sentinel says that there are four in the Wallace Tower with the prisoners and a further four, including the Commander, in the Governor’s House.”
Rob quickly detailed a man to guard the prisoner while he took the remaining men along the rampart and down into the cleft where the four storey Wallace tower guarded the postern gate. They crept up to the door. Any noise they made was masked by the wind and rain that lashed the exposed rock with unremitting venom. There was no sentinel outside the Tower to guard the great guns that stood on their platform overlooking the River Leven on its final meander before it joined the River Clyde.
“Sèoladair,” Rob said, “you remain here out of sight. As you will have to remain here in Dumbarton, it would be wise if your face was not seen by anyone.”
Ever so carefully, Rob tried the latch on the heavy iron-studded oaken door. Amazingly, it was not locked. He opened it carefully and peered in. There was a torch burning smokily at the end of the stone entrance passage, casting enough light to confirm that there was nobody there. There was a portcullis gate with its lower end visible in its slot above his head. A great iron yett stood beyond, but it was securely fastened open against the wall. Along a cobbled passage, was the door to the guardroom. Rob eased himself into the passageway. He stepped silently along the cobbles which were wet with water that dripped from cracks in the masonry of the gateway. He peered through the open guardroom door. By the light of the glowing brazier he could see the duty warder hunched over his fire, keeping himself warm. Three more after this one, Rob thought as he dunted the man over the head with the hilt of his dirk. Taking the bundle of keys from the unconscious guard’s belt, Rob and Calum dragged him over to the entrance of the bottle dungeon in the corner of the room. A convenient rope with a corded hook on the end sufficed to lower the guard down into the dungeon. He pulled on the cord to release the hook leaving him in a heap on the cold floor of his own dungeon.
“Now for the rest of the guards,” Rob whispered as they climbed the turnpike stair. There was nothing below them apart from the bottle dungeon. The Tower was built directly on hard basaltic rock. It was likely that the remaining men of the garrison would have the best accommodation on the floor above, with the prisoners warded on the upper floors. From what they had found so far, all of these men were old and unfit. They had been left behind when Cumberland summoned as many as could be spared.
It had been pointless carrying pistols and powder up the wet rock face. They had carried only their dirks with them. However, several pistols and dry powder had been found in the guardroom. Rob and Calum sprang through the door into the hall, their pistols levelled. Many straw-filled palliases lay around the floor. Most were empty. Only three were occupied by the remainder of the garrison slept here. They woke to stare uncomprehendingly at the men who had captured their invincible fortress.
Rob detailed several men to guard their prisoners while he and Calum Og went up the circular stair to the upper chamber. They levelled their pistols as they entered the chamber. Would there be guards in here too?
“Rob, is that you?” greeted them as they entered the chamber above. Malcolm of Cornour lay on the paliasse closest to the door. “How did you get in here? You cannot be captive with those in your hand!”
After greeting Calum and the other Clan Gregor captives, Rob quickly explained how they had scaled the walls. “Are there any others?” he asked. “there appears to be only eight of you here.”
Calum explained, “fifteen of us were taken by General Jack, but three of the men that we recruited on our route through the Cantyres claimed that they had been forced. They convinced the governor of this and were released. They were poor trash anyway. Patrick King was shot through the back, cannot walk and is likely to die. He is held in the infirmary below the Governor’s House. The militia took the three that we recruited in Argyll away. We have not seen them since. It is likely that they have been shot.”
Rob quickly agreed that it was pointless attempting to rescue a crippled man who would be unable to escape. He ordered that the sentinel held in the upper barrack should be brought down and dropped into the dungeon with the four who had been captured below. There were more, perhaps as many as a dozen, suggested Calum at the foot of the ravine walkway to the south. They would be secure in the Governor’s House with the artillery positions that commanded the River Clyde. There could be no advantage in attempting that. Rob had achieved the sole objective that his father had set him. Now it was time for escape.
The sentinel’s keys opened the massive lock in the gate of the North entry. They walked out into the wind, trotting down the track towards the woodland where Glengyle had promised to wait for them.
Glengyle and Cornour greeted each other warmly. Cornour was thinner and more care-worn than he had been in November but otherwise well. That description probably went for most of them. Glengyle warmly thanked Sèoladair. “Give my greetings to my sons when you next meet them. Their mot
her would be overjoyed to see them safely home again when our present troubles are over.”
Only two men had to double up on the garrons that Glengyle guarded. They made quick progress along the River Leven to Balloch. It seemed an anticlimax to Rob when they found the boatmen waiting patiently for them on Loch Lomond. Despite the continuing rain, and the rocking of the boat, he dozed off.
Rob awoke even more cold and uncomfortable, despite the sheepskins that had been piled upon him as he slept. They were nearing Inversnaid. At last they would reach safety and somewhere to rest.
“Fare thee well for the present,” Glengyle said. “Gather up as many of our men as you can find and rejoin us at your earliest. In especial you should bring James Mòr. I would warrant that his leg is healed. I have been summoned to a council at Crieff on Monday to determine our strategy. Thereafter I shall join the remainder of our present company with Glencarnaig’s and travel with the Prince. Once I know the route, I shall send a messenger to advise you of our plan.”
After sleeping till midday at Inversnaid barracks, Rob’s small band separated to go to their homes. He commanded them to meet again at Lochearnhead in three days when Glengyle’s messenger would arrive with his orders. Ranald and Duncan Macpharrie went across to Balquhidder while Rob travelled east by Loch Arklet to Stronachlachar.
Jean flung herself into Rob’s arms when he entered his own house. “O, Rob, mo chridhe,” she sobbed. “So many have come home, and yet you had not. Can you remain? What is to become of us?”
“Steady, my heart,” he answered. “I cannot remain, I have to go with my father into the Highlands. The chiefs have advised the Prince that it is necessary to retreat into the North. There we will rebuild the army of the Gael in order to fall on the Saxon in the spring and drive him back “
“O Rob,” Jean said. “What is to become of us, the women and children and the old men you leave behind you? How can you desert us to the vengeance of the Saxon.?”
“Jean, my dear,” Rob answered, “we shall take valuables to the shielings. Leave little here where the redcoats can reach. The stock that we have left cannot be moved as there is no grazing for them. The children and old people can be hidden. If danger comes, they must take the meal and other provisions with them. I doubt that you shall see any redcoats until the spring. However, if they do come, you must not resist them. Take to the hills. Allow them their way with the houses. They may burn the house but it can be rebuilt. I can never find another Jean. Be here for me when I return.”
Two days later Rob was travelling once more. Many of their men had returned with their booty from Falkirk but were easily found at their homes. Most were willing to come with Rob. Others had gone into hiding. He should have sought them out but there was no passion for the cause left in his heart. He still had his duty to his father and an obligation to the Prince.
At Glen Gyle House, his mother was pleased to see him, but looked strained. Her opposition to the whole venture had not altered. She knew that her house would be burned when the soldiers came, as it had been thirty years before. She knew better than to try to dissuade him, but reminded Rob of his duties to his wife and to his mother.
“Mother,” he told her, “I have my mother and my wife to respect and serve. But I have my honour also. I cannot desert the cause of my Prince even though it must bring disaster upon all.”
“You are no better than your father, with your sense of honour and dignity.” she said. “My father said I should not have married a Highland man, with a treasury of honour and no siller in his purse. He told me that I could have had a merchant with a fine house. Still, I would not have you and your father any other way. He has been a good man to me, despite his devotion to those undeserving Stewarts.”
Rob took his leave of his mother, promising help to move her possessions to safety in the hills. He had another duty to perform before he left to rejoin Glengyle. He made his way along to James Mòr’s house at Coire Arklet. James was in fine fettle after his enforced rest. His leg had healed well. Together they made their way back to the fort at Inversnaid. The clan garrison still held the fort. Although there were only five men, nobody had bothered them. Now the fort had outlived its usefulness. Most of the supplies had been removed. Only a single barrel of gunpowder and slow fuse had been retained ready for this moment.
It did not take them long to lay the charges. They had the advantage of daylight and no risk of being disturbed. James Mòr had arranged for supplies of clay as tamping material. Holes had been cut into the foundations. This demolition would be thorough. They laid a trail of powder as a fuse. The few men with them moved away to a safe distance. Rob lit the fuse. He and James Mòr took cover behind an outcrop of rock. Time passed. The fuse was very slow! Rob thought that it must have been extinguished. James Mòr held him back. Then came the blast. Or rather four distinct blasts as each of the charges ignited. Pebbles and fragments of wood landed around them. They looked up. As the great cloud of smoke cleared the fort looked as it had before. Then as they walked towards it they could see the walls were leaning. The gable of the barrack block was split from top to bottom. The gates lay flat on the ground where the front wall had collapsed. As the smoke cleared it was obvious that major rebuilding would be needed before the enemy could use this place again.
“Do not be sure,” James Mòr said, “that they will not rebuild it again.”
“Well, “ Rob answered, “we shall just destroy it again,”
At Lochearnhead Rob learned that the tryst was to be at Coshieville on the road to Inverness. There were few dry eyes in Strath Gartney as he led his company north.
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